A Little Bit Stronger
by loveofmylonglife
Summary: How is Annie supposed to cope after Mitchell's gone? Annie/Mitchell one shot. Here there be angst.


_"__Woke up late today and I still feel the sting of the pain but I brush my teeth anyway. I got dressed through the mess and put a smile on my face."_

Her eyes were unyielding as she lay slumped against the kitchen table, sighing. She was bored. It was half past three in the morning and she was bored. Sitting at the table, nothing to say, nothing to see. She thought about getting up and checking on George and Nina, but she'd already done that twice so far.

She turned her eyes to the window. The curtain was open and it was dark outside. Every house had their lights out and the only illumination came from the streetlight out on the pavement. The thundering rain caused ripples on the distorted light on the table in front of her. She ran her hand over the empty space, watching the ripples transfuse onto her hand instead. The only sound was the rain outside. Pouring and pouring and never stopping. She sighed and got up, pulling the chair back carefully, silently. Walking up the stairs, slowly, she padded towards George and Nina's bedroom. She'd rent-a-ghost in, but the pop normally woke Nina.

"Anniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiie," moaned George like a little boy, as he turned over, "Ohhhh, don't tell me it's….it's raining."

He rubbed his eyes and sighed, lying back in bed and turning his head to look at the window. Nina stayed sound asleep.

"Yeah, it's quite heavy," mused Annie, walking towards him and standing next to the bed.

"It's biblical, that's what it is. Now I won't be able to put the washing out," he groaned, closing his eyes in resignation. He opened them again, smiling at Annie and squeezing her hand softly.

"Bedtime again," Annie reminded him, getting up and smiling back, walking out of the bedroom, giving him one last look before shutting the door.

She turned around with her back to the door, biting her lip. George had other things on his mind right now. Like Nina and their baby. He didn't need Annie's troubles.

She thought about going downstairs to make him a cup of tea, even though it was early in the morning. She knew he wouldn't drink it, but it made her feel better. Familiar. Routine. As she turned to walk back down the stairs, she caught sight of something.

That room. That place. The place she swore she wouldn't go two months ago.

Mitchell's room.

She walked towards it gingerly. The door was closed. No light emanated from under the gap between the door and the floorboards. It was like he was still in there, like he was just sleeping. She placed her hand on the doorknob. It was cold. Like usual.

She didn't want to open it. She didn't want to go inside and find him not in his bed, not wrapped up in his duvet, fast asleep, his hair all over his face.

She turned the knob and pushed the door open slowly. The curtains were open and she saw the same view through the window; branches moving in the wind, water battering the windowsill. It was cold in the room.

She looked around, closing the door behind her. It was as if he'd just left for a holiday. Everything was in the same place. His wardrobe, his clothes, his bed, his desk. The duvet was pulled off the bed, as if he'd just gotten up to get a drink or go to the bathroom. The pillow had a soft dent in it from where he'd rested his head. His clothes were strewn over the carpet. A pair of jeans with the pockets inside out, a soft, thin grey jumper with buttons at the neck. A pair of boxers, a pair of grey socks. And on the floor near his bed, a pair of black fingerless gloves.

The only thing missing from the outfit was his pair of black lace up boots. She searched for them, her eyes spanning the room and stopping as she realised he'd been wearing them when he'd….

She bit back tears and walked to the wardrobe, opening it slowly, discovering nothing out of the ordinary inside. No ghostly Mitchell, no spirit, no message from the afterlife. Just his clothes. A mess of shirts hanging from a rail, crudely folded jeans at the bottom. She felt a familiar twinge of annoyance at the discarded jeans. She'd folded them after washing them but he had this habit of trying on two pairs and whichever he didn't like, he'd fold again and carelessly toss into the wardrobe. She reached out to pick them up and fold them again, but retracted. He'd never be needing them again. Gritting her teeth, she tipped her head back slightly to push back the tears, closing the wardrobe and turning around to the bed again.

Her mind flashed back to that time, the time when George's father had passed away and she'd made more than inappropriate comments in the kitchen. Dying of embarrassment, if that was even possible in her state, she'd rent-a-ghosted to the first place she felt safe: Mitchell's bedroom. She knew he'd follow her up there. And he sat down next to her and reassured her that not being good with death was perfectly normal. That weirdness, that eccentricity was what made Annie…._Annie._

"You make things….you make _people_ better."

That was what he had said. But it was hard to believe that when she wasn't able to make him better. He had been broken beyond repair. She remembered when she'd been so hurt and angry to hear him say such horrid things to her while he was outside putting the rubbish out. She hated him and played the role of the wounded girlfriend, but it was more than that. He saved her from Purgatory because he wanted to play the hero? Not because he loved her?

But all of that didn't matter now. She walked to the side of the bed and reached out in front of her, closing her eyes, the tears seeping down her cheeks slowly, her mind distorting as she felt that moment, when he apologised, when he held her to himself, buried his face in her stomach like a little boy, sobbing and begging. She should have seen then that he was so broken.

She sobbed too, then. She fell onto the bed, tears staining the bed sheet, her head making a perfect mould for Mitchell's on his pillow. She pulled the duvet up around her and sobbed harder. The smell, the feel, the touch, she could sense it all. The soft scent of his hair on the pillow, the smell of his skin. Hard but soft, like worn leather and spices, but a faint wisp of smoke. The cigarettes he used to inhale every day, the ones that Annie would disapprove of and glare at and smack out of his hands. She'd give anything now to see him standing outside, smoking. To smell that burning and know he was close. But he wasn't, he was gone and she was still here and everything was wrong.

The room was silent as her sobs quietened. She looked around again, her hands still clutching the duvet. Silence. Rain. The last time she'd been here in this weather, the last time she'd been in this bed was with him. Scared.

Dreams about Owen had plagued her night-time meanders and she was scared to go down to the stairs, to see that flagstone at the bottom, cracked. Specks of blood still lingering. Her blood. She knew they were in a different house, but whenever she looked down the stairs, that was all she saw. She was back in Bristol again, back at the top of the stairs, being shaken and thrown against the wall by the man she thought she loved, tossed down the steps. The feeling you have in those dreams where you're falling, but then you wake up before you hit the ground. But it wasn't like that, she couldn't wake up, she had to see it through. Like a jail sentence, again and again until she was a trembling wreck.

She'd appeared in Mitchell's room, crying, shaking, unable to see anything but Owen in front of her. Mitchell had held her, covered her with his body, held her in his arms until she was still, until her breathing evened and all she could feel were his arms and the warm metal of his chains against his chest, all she could smell was soft smoke and leather. She'd curled into his chest and tangled her legs with his, and that time, he hadn't protested at their intimacy like before. He'd held her close all night, tucking her head under his chin, rocking her softly until sunlight peeked through the curtains.

She didn't have those dreams anymore. Now they were replaced by another familiar face. Kinder this time, stained with tears, covered with black curls, smiling in relief and misery. Then the face cracked and broke and shattered like a mirror and faded away. And she sobbed and sat in the hallway, hiding her face in her hands. Sometimes she'd crawl in front of the bar, sit down in that spot as if she was a medium, as if she could feel him there. There was never anything.

And now she realised she'd been looking in the wrong place. It was here, in his bed, that she found her comfort. Feeling his familiar scent wrap around her, as if he was still alive, as if he was still here in this bed, stroking her hair, rubbing her back, telling her no one could hurt her anymore. She wrapped her arms around the pillow and buried her face in it, closing her eyes and falling asleep, finally.

"Annie? Anniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiie," called George.

"She's probably gone out for some milk or something," Nina sighed, rubbing her forehead as she buttered a slice of toast.

"But we've got milk in the fridge. And all our groceries. Where is she? Where could she be?" he muttered frantically, pacing around the kitchen.

"George, calm down, she's around here somewhere," replied Nina, sitting down and brushing her hair out of her face, beginning to munch on her toast.

George dismissed her and walked upstairs again, checking their bedroom and the guest bedroom, then the bathroom. He went up to the attic, looking around. She wasn't there. He ran back to the first floor, frantic and out of breath. She was volatile right now, to say the least.

He noticed a crack on Mitchell's bedroom door. It was open, just a little. Furrowing his eyebrows, he pushed it open slowly and the creak filled his ears. It was a familiar sound he hadn't heard for over eight weeks. But when he looked inside, he saw her. Curled up contentedly, the duvet covering her body, her cheek resting against the pillow, her eyes closed, her chest moving up and down slowly. She was sleeping. Annie was sleeping.


End file.
